


White Blank Page

by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)



Series: White Blank Page [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 02:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6884905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the record, Josephine and Inquisitor Helena Trevelyan meet in Haven.</p><p>Off the record, they meet when Josephine is six and Helena is five. </p><p>It’s one fact lost to history. But it’s an important one that shapes both girls for a lifetime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Blank Page

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a monster. A monster. A monster I put my heart and soul into so when no ones reads it, I will likely be crushed. So please leave comments and reblog if you can.
> 
> I'm willing to do a sequel but only if I think people want one.

Helena Trevelyan was not a beauty.

Josephine knew this before she even met the girl. The rumors were swift about the Trevelyan’s, one of the more powerful families in the Free Marches, and even at age six, Josephine was able to hear a good chunk of them from nobles who forgot about the child in the room. 

Heirs always received a bit of gossip. Josephine had already gotten her own as the eldest heir to her own name, most of them complimentary words. She was bright. Clever. Sweet with a good face.

Helena’s gossip was less flattering.

_ “She is so plain. Her parents are hoping she’ll grow out of it, but those teeth-” _

_ “She doesn’t carry her title in the slightest. Her brothers must have inherited all of their mother’s poise.” _

_ “They’ll be lucky if she grows into anything respectable.” _

_ “And that laugh-” _

The rest was mostly the same. As the eldest female heir of one of the richer branches of the Trevelyan house, Helena was the ugly duckling, the child who was already predicted to be an embarrassment for years to come. She was too loud, Josephine heard. She refused to respect her brothers, upstanding young gentleman. She was too tall, too skinny, too plain.

Josephine didn’t care about any of this gossip. She was still a girl, her interest in politics reserved for weddings and romance. Not the affairs of a girl her age, who as far as Josephine knew, was likely as boorish as the rest. Upon being told she was to attend a Trevelyan gala, the only person she was interested in meeting was Robert Trevelyan, who according to gossip, was suppose to be like a prince out of one of her story books. 

Robert would turn out to be a disappointment. But his five year old sister?

Well, looking at Helena walk through the door of the Haven Chantry, she would continue to be full of surprises for years to come. 

* * *

Josephine's first heartbreak came at the hands of Robert Trevelyan. 

He was the second eldest son of the third branch of the Trevelyan house, a handsome boy who only promised to become handsome. With a winning grin, and curly black hair, he reminded Josephine of one of the prince’s her mother told her stories about, a boy who rescued girls from towers and fought dragons. Soon to head into Templar training, he even had the sword and shield training to complete the illusion. As soon as Josephine spotted him across the dance hall, his green eyes had her captured. 

Unfortunately for Josephine, Robert Trevelyan was not only a royal beauty but a royal jackass. 

“Aren’t you too poor to be wearing that dress?” Was all the boy had said to her when she’d come up to him with a handful of flowers. “That can’t be real silk.”

It was only her mother’s training in court etiquette that kept Josephine from bursting into tears.  

“Robert!” A slim figure darted between Josephine and the boy before Josephine could manage a polite response. The figure, a young girl, reached up on her tiptoes to flick the boy right in the nose. The noise he let out was more like a scared nug that a prince. “Don’t be mean!”

“I wasn’t being mean.” Robert’s eyes narrowed in Josephine’s direction. His gaze lingered on her gown, which she’d been so proud of minutes earlier. “I was being truthful.”

“So you were being super mean,” the girl spat back. “To a lady.”

“She’s not a lady.”

“Mother says she’s a lady, so she’s a lady. And you should be nice to ladies.” She glanced at Josephine over her shoulder and winked. She had nice brown eyes, Josephine thought. She looked back to the boy and crossed her arms. “And I bet Mother would be cross if I told her you were being mean to her guests.” 

Robert flinched, before a mighty scowl crossed his face. It made him look rather ugly. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would.” 

Robert’s right eye twitched. “You’re such a brat.”

“Better than a jerk.”

The boy looked at the girl in front of him for a moment. Then at Josephine. And after a moment of consideration, he turned on his heel and stormed in the other direction.

The girl spun around, and Josephine realized who she was at once. How could she not with those freckles and buck teeth that had been the subject of such rumors. Her hair, light brown unlike her brothers, was braided back with a nice blue ribbon that matched her blue dress.  “Hello. I’m Helena. I, opps-” Her eyes grew wide and she bent down in a crude curtsy, clearly unpracticed. She looked up at Josephine and giggled. It was high pitched, almost a snort, and Josephine understood how gossip about it could have spread so far.

What she couldn’t understand was why the rumors were so negative. No, Helena’s laugh was not that of a noble woman. It was not polite. But it was genuine.

“Don’t tell my mother I forgot the curtsy,” Helena said, voice nervous. “She’ll be cross.”

Josephine couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the corner of her mouth. “I won’t tell.” She curtsied back, much more practiced. “I’m Josephine Montilyet.” 

“I like you name.” Helena said before her gaze traveled to the daisies Josephine was holding. “Your flowers are pretty. Can I have one?”

Josephine didn’t hesitate before pushing the entire handful into the young girl’s hand. 

* * *

They spent the rest of the night hanging out in one of the garden trees.

It was an old tree, the type made for climbing, and while Josephine had been reluctant to scale it at first, Helena had eventually convinced her with enough pleading. The garden was right outside the ballroom, and as a result, they could still hear and see everything inside the manor from the tree’s branches.  

‘So you’re the oldest?” Josephine asked once they’d been up in the tree for almost an hour. They’d spent at least a good deal of time discussing hobbies they had in common (books, art, dancing) and now, done discussing the differences between their home countries, they’d moved onto family. Josephine had just finished listing off her siblings. “That’s weird.”

“Weird?”

Helena shrugged. “It means you’re like James. He’s the oldest. But he’s also no fun and you’re fun, so I don’t really get it.”

Josephine laughed. She couldn’t help it. “Why is he no fun?”

“He’s a Chantry Brother in training. He just wants to talk about Andraste. Or politics. Or how I should listen to him.” She leaned back. “Robert is no fun too, but I can annoy him. James is too stuffy.” Her nose crinkled. “He sounds stuffy too. Like Lord Banquo.”

Both girls giggled, picturing one of the older lords inside the manor who spoke with a persistent nasal. When they’d recovered, Josephine spoke first. 

“Are you the youngest?”

“Nope.” She put emphasis on the p. “There’s Peter but he’s a baby so we can’t play. And Mother is having another. Wants it to be a girl.” Helena said the last sentence with a bit of a pout.

“You don’t want it to be a girl?”

Helena leaned forward. Put her chin in her hands. “Not when they want her to replace me. Cus I’m not good enough.” She let out a breathe of air. “She’ll probably be dull too.”

Josephine stared at the girl. Back in Antiva, hearing these rumors, she never thought that Helena might have been affected by them, that she would know he own reputation. Now, it was obvious that the girl was perfectly aware of what others thought. Josephine felt a bit sad for her; at least her younger siblings were kind, her parents approving. Helena might be richer in coin, but in relationships, she was poorer than Josephine could imagine.

“Do you have friends?”

Helena put her hands back down on her knees, sitting up straighter. “Kinda. The servants kids. But I’m not suppose to play with them. It’s improper. Do it anyway though.”

Josephine looked at her for a long moment. At this girl who saved her from a brute and took her flowers with a smile. “I’ll be your friend.”

Helena turned to  look at her so fast that Josephine swore her braid cracked like a whip.

“What?”

“I’ll be your friend.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re nice.”

Helena blinked rapidly. “But you live all the way in Antiva.”

She was right there. Josephine paused for a moment before he brain found a solution. “We could write letters.”

“Letters.”

“Letters. To talk. My Father sends them all the time for trade.”

Helena stared at her for a long moment. “I’ve never written a letter.”

“It’s not hard.”

“I have bad handwriting.”

“I can read it if I try.”

“I-”

“Helena,” Josephine said, feeling she might have made a misstep. Perhaps Helena did not want her company for more than a night. “Do you want to be my friend?”

Helena was quiet for a long moment. She bit her lower lip. And after a moment of silence, she spoke.

“Yes.”

Their parents walked out into the garden after that, looking for their lost children. Both girls were scolded for leaving the party and escorted back to the party. Josephine was unable to see Helena for the rest of the night. When she returned home on her ship from Antiva, it was with the expectation Helena might not write her at all.

“Lady Montilyet,” a servant said as Josephine and her parents walked into the door. “You have a letter.”

Upon ripping it open, there was only a short message in the worst handwriting Josephine had ever seen followed by a picture of what looked to be a troll.

_ Josephine, _

_ I told you my handwriting was bad. _

_ Helena. _

_ (P.S I drew you Robert.) _

Josephine promptly hung it on her wall. 

* * *

Over the next two years, they exchanged enough letters to make a book.

Helena’s handwriting improved, though her relationship with her siblings did not. She wrote of Robert leaving for Templar training, of James proving to be less of a bore than expected, of her new sibling Christine, who promised to be more of a lady than Helena would ever be. She wrote of the odd winters they had in the Free Marches, of the dances her parents put on, of the other branches of the Trevelyan family who fought more than Josephine thought possible.

Josephine wrote back, her handwriting much better than her friends. She wrote of the friends she had in Antiva, the girls who braided each others' hair in the market. She wrote of her siblings, of how her younger sister attempted to scale the wall of their house with her bare hands on a dare. She wrote of their trading fleet, of what it felt like to sit on the bow of a boat and watch the fish swim underneath. 

When they saw each other again two years later at another Trevelyan gala, both rushed their curtsies so they could give each other a rather crushing hug.

“They’re teaching me sword fighting,” Helena said, delighted, when they were in the same tree that they’d sat in the first time Josephine visited. “Robert’s idea. And I’m good at it.” She rolled up her sleeves and grinned, showing the beginning of muscle on her lean arms. “Look!”

“Oh!” Josephine said. She tilted her head. “Is it hard?” 

“Yeah, but it’s fun. I’m gonna beat Robert someday. I promised.” She puffed out her chest like she was some grand warrior. “Hello my name is Robert and I am a mighty Templar who has been beaten by his baby sister. Watch me cry.”

Josephine’s snickering could be heard from inside the manor.

“Maybe you could fight a dragon someday,” Josephine said when the night was growing late and they moved onto other topics. “Like they do in Nevarra.”

“Hm.” Helena looked to Josephine. “Could a save a princess doing it?”

“Why does there have to be a princess to save?”

“There always is in the stories. The good ones.”

“I suppose there could be a princess.”

“Then I’d fight a dragon.” Helena looked to Josephine and grinned wide. “Maybe you could be the princess?”

“I’m not a princess.” Far from it actually. Josephine knew enough about her family’s riches to know that.

“Pretty enough to be one.”

Josephine couldn’t keep her smile off her face for the rest of the night. 

* * *

The next time Josephine saw Helena, she was different.

The change wasn’t noticeable, not if one was just looking for physical changes. On one glance, Helena looked like she was growing regularly for a girl her age, just a little taller, her cheeks still losing some of their baby fat.  Her freckles, still on display were as prominent as ever, and when Josephine finally managed to make her way over to the girl through the crowd of gossiping adults, she relished seeing that freckled face, toothy smile and brown eyes again.

“Lady Trevelyan,” she said, doing a curtsy that was more formality at this point. “You didn't mention how much you’d grown in your letters.”

Helena’s eyes dimmed. Her smile vanished. And when she followed with her own curtsy, Josephine saw the tension in it. 

“I would say the same about you, Lady Josephine.”

And with the tremor in her voice, Josephine knew at once that something was wrong.

It took effort to sneak out to the gardens outside the Trevelyan manor; with Josephine and Helena getting older, leaving a party could be seen as less of a childish whim and more of an insult. When they finally made it outside, Helena climbed the tree they’d hide in a thousand times first, and Josephine didn’t miss how strong she had gotten. When Josephine scampered up to join them, it was minutes before Helena spoke.

“They want me to be a Templar,” she said softly as the music from the main hall floated out the windows. “A real Templar.”

Her statement wasn’t a surprise. The Trevelyan’s were known for dedicating their children to the Chantry. It was common practice for many lesser families. Two of Helena’s older brothers were in service to the Chantry, one a brother on the rise in the Free Marches, the other a Templar in training off for Orlais proper. Josephine thought Helena might escape service due to being the sole woman heir of her family branch, but it seemed with the birth of her sister last fall, that protection had fallen away regardless of age. 

“I take it you don’t like the idea.”

"Oh course I don’t.” Helena kicked at one of the lower branches, scowling. “I’d rather be a lay sister. But I guess I’m too good at fighting for that. Or not pretty enough.”

“I wasn’t aware being pretty was a requirement for Sisterhood.”

Helena looked at her. “It is if you’re a Trevelyan.” She glanced down at her feet. Her shoes were off and she wiggled her toes, casting shadows on the grass below. “I asked not to, but they won’t let me. Say it should be a honor.”

“Is it not?” Templars were held in high regard by the Chantry as far as Josephine knew. The children of sacrifice and dedication. Helena was silent for a long moment before answering.

“They’re bullies.” Josephine sucked in a breath, surprise and Helena looked up at her, mouth in a tight line. “I know we’re not suppose to say that, but it’s true. They’re bullies. Big bullies. Like Robert.”

“Helena-” If Helena got caught saying such a thing she could be in major trouble, regardless of her young age. But the younger girl pressed on.

“I saw them. I know it cus I saw them.” Her fingers dug into the tree branch she was sitting on and she rocked a bit. “We used to have this serving girl and she had a kid. Elania. I wasn’t suppose to play with her cus she was an elf, but I did anyway. And she was really nice. And cool. And didn’t make fun of my big ears or my teeth or my freckles. But one day, when she was ten, she started to shoot light from her fingers. Just sparks. And the Templars came and took her away.” Her brown eyes grew wide. “It was a light show, Josie. She was showing me lights. And they punched her in the face and broke her arm even though she wasn’t fighting and I screamed for them to stop but they didn’t because they thought it was fun.” She turned away, shaking a little. “I asked her Mother if I could write her letters, wherever they took her. She said she never made it there. Templars said she got possessed in route and had to kill her.”

“You don’t believe them.”

There was a long beat of silence. “No. I don’t.” 

Josephine thought about what she said for a long moment. She wanted to say that Helena was mistaken, that such a terrible thing could never happen from their protectors, but at the tender age of ten, she knew better. She’d heard her parents whisper how to avoid the Chantry if one of her siblings was born a mage. She saw the was Templars watched the streets with glint in their eye some days. She knew what a man could do to an elf if he thought he could get away with it, if he had the power.

Josephine was naive about many things, and would continue to be for a long period of her life. But she was not naive about the darker shadows that lingered in her world. Her parents had made it clear she couldn’t afford to be.

“Why didn’t you tell me this?” Josephine asked at last. “In your letters?”

Helena shrugged. “Tried to. Mother and Father read them before I’m allowed to send them. I’m not allowed to write gossip.”

Josephine was quiet for a long moment. “Have you thought about writing it in code?”

“Code?”

“Code. My father uses it for trading sometimes. It looks like a normal letter. I could teach you. So you could tell me what you want.”

Helena looked at her. Her eyes softened. “I would like that.”

They stayed in the tree for an hour before heading back to the party.

* * *

They used code after that.

It was for silly things mostly, stuff their parents would censor if they noticed them including it. A book code was the most simple way, a shared copy of something they both owned as a codex and as they passaged messages, the code grew more and more elaborate. As did the messages.

“ _ My brother is seeing a girl and mother would be furious.” _

_ “Father is having some trouble with a political issue. I’m worried.” _

_ “I am sure my mother will send me to Templar training as soon as I hit thirteen and I am terrified.” _

As a result, when Josephine got the following in a letter, she was soon set on guard.

_ “I am in trouble. I need help.” _

Josephine assumed it had to do with the Templars. Perhaps Helena’s mother was sending her out early. Or maybe they wanted her even sooner. Both were wrong. 

Helena would never end up being sent to train as a Templar.

That fate was impossible as soon as she touched a window in the morning on a summer day and the glass started to frost. 

* * *

The next party, Helena was not in the ballroom. 

Josephine had to check almost every room to before she found her, staring outside the window.

“Helena?”

Helena turned around, pivoting on her heel. Her eyes were wide, almost terrified and as Josephine looked down to floor she saw why. Spreading from Helena’s feet as a thin sheet of ice, creeping through the floorboards. Josephine watched, hand over her mouth as it spread a little further, digging into the crevices of the wood. 

This was what Helena had been too worried to write, even in code. This was why the tone in her letters had shifted. Helena was a mage.

No. Helena was dangerous.

“You can’t tell,” Helena must have noticed the look in Josephine eyes because the hurt on her face was almost heart-wrenching. “You can’t, Josie, you can’t.”

“But-” The ice creeping further caught her gaze and Helena reached towards her, lifting up her chin, forcing the older girl to look at her instead of the ice between them. Her brown eyes looked terrified.

“Josie, please. I’m working on controlling it, I promise. I just got scared, with the Templars visiting. I swear, I’m fine, I have it under control, I’m fine.”

Josephine looked at Helena for a moment, the ice that was now beginning to lap at Josephine’s shoes forgotten. This was Helena. Helena who wrote her letters in the worst handwriting Josephine had ever seen. Helena who laughed in a manner that was entirely un-ladylike. Helena her friend.

Josephine pushed away the word of the Chantry floating in her head. Helena was her friend. Helena was also a mage. But she was not dangerous.

Never to Josephine. 

“Alright,” Josephine said. “I won’t tell anyone.” 

Helena looked almost taken aback. “You swear it?” Josephine could feet the ice stop on the tips of her shoes, the crawl paused. 

“I swear it.”

The truth came out quickly after that. A week after her last normal letter, she’d started having dreams, terrible ones. Ones with demons and spirits that whispered and followed her steps. She’d started waking up with her sheets as cold as ice, with the window frosted despite the summer months. And when she’d had a dream of a demon that shuffled like a spider on four legs with no face, she’d woken up to find her walls coated in ice.

“I know not to say yes,” she said, later, when the girls were sitting on the windowsill. The ice where Helena had stood earlier was melting now. The girls had covered it up with a rug, just to be safe. “To the demons. I’m not stupid. But they’re scary, sometimes. And the magic stuff is...hard.” Both girls looked at the rug. “I’m getting better at it. Found some books Robert used to keep when he was training here. They help.”

_ Not enough _ , Josephine thought, remembering the ice on the floorboards. Helena was still young. What if her magic got more powerful than a layer of frost?  “You need a teacher.”

“There aren’t any. Cept apostates. And I don’t know how to find one.” 

“I could help you look.”

Helena looked at her, an eyebrow raised. “You know where apostates live?”

Josephine lifted her chin. “I could try to find one. If I ask-”

“No, no-” Helena shook her head, her light brown hair whipping across her face. “You’ll just get in trouble.”

“But-”

“No.” There was no room for argument in Helena’s voice. Josephine fell silent. 

Both of the girls sat there for a long moment before either spoke again. 

“I’ve learned how to make flowers,” Helena said at last. “Out of ice.” She lifted up her hand. “You wanna see?” 

Josephine nodded and with that Helena closed her hand. She shut her eyes for a moment and Josephine watched as she opened her palm again to reveal a small ball of ice there. Taking her other hand, Helena reached above the ice and twisted her wrist. The ice spiraled, twisting in on itself. Forming crude petals. Coming alive.

“There,” Helena said, opening her eyes. “It’s not really good but I’m still learning.” She reached over to show it to Josephine. “You like it?”

Years later, in the Courts of Orlais, someone would ask Josephine why she felt so strongly about mage rights, why she was willing to put her faith in something so dangerous. Josephine would always cite a liberal upbringing, the research she had undertaken, along with some individual studies of Apostates living together without demons ever becoming a threat. But whenever she thought of a moment that cemented her opinion, it was not a moment of her parents speaking to her, or the studies of the Dalish on her desk. 

It was this.

“It’s beautiful,” Josephine said. 

It would be the last time the girls saw each other for over fifteen years. 

* * *

Josephine went home to Antiva. She got one letter from Helena. Than another. Then none at all. 

Her parents were the ones to tell her the girl had been taken by the Templars in the end. 

“I’m sorry, hija,” her father said after he told her the news. “I do not know the specifics, only that her family refuses to speak of the matter.”

“Could I send her letters,” Josephine asked between sobs. “If I sent them to her tower?” 

“I believe mages are not allowed letters from anyone but family, Josephine,” her mother said, rubbing her back. But you could try. I will ask Lady Trevelyan for the proper tower.” 

Josephine never got it. After months and months of asking Lady Trevelyan for an address, it was becoming clear that Helena was to be forgotten about as far as her family was concerned. Josephine sent request after request to her parents. To her brothers who were old enough to provide it. All were met with the same firm reply. 

“Helena is in service of the Chantry and is not to be disturbed by frivolous outside tasks. Thank you for your concern, but this is a family matter.”

Josephine ended up throwing every last letter in the fireplace to watch them burn.

(She wrote to every tower none-the-less. With each of them she was not even granted a reply to destroy).

* * *

 

At the next Gala, Helena’s absence made the affair more cold than the frost Helena once controlled.

The eldest Trevelyan sister was a forbidden topic, meant to be shoved out of sight. Her parents did not speak of her. Her youngest sister flounced in her old ill fitting dresses. Her brothers preened and danced, praising the Chantry’s might. Even Peter, the brother Josephine found the most tolerable, refused to speak on the subject. 

“I’m training to be a Templar,” He had said when Josephine inquired about Helena. “I’m serving the Chantry. And so is Helena.”

“She’s locked away in a tower.”

Josephine did not miss the way Peter’s voice wavered when he spoke next.

“It is for the good of the people.”

_ She is your sister _ , Josephine wanted to scream.  _ Does that mean nothing? _

It did not. Helena was always the odd child. The unflattering one with too big ears, too wide shoulders, and buck teeth. A girl with freckles and a laugh that was unsuitable for any woman of standing. Her parents had wanted rid of her since it became clear that her personality could not be tamed into something else. Her elder brothers had wanted her to stop bothering them. Her younger siblings were incapable of stepping out of the shadow the gossip around her cast. Sending her to the Templars was her parent’s intended solution for all three problems.

How happy they must have been, Josephine thought, when the realized she was a mage. As a Templar, Helena would still be a part of the family makeup, like Robert, someone who could visit and wreck havoc. As a mage? They could just lock her away. 

“Such a shame,” Josephine heard near the end of the night as she passed one of the nobles. “About their eldest. She seemed like a lovely girl.”

Josephine balled her hands into fists. Turned towards the noble worth five times her standing. Bared her teeth.

“ _ She still is _ .” And it was with that statement, that Josephine caused her first public scandal. 

“They were talking about her like she was dead,” she told her mother said later, sequestered away in the hall as her father ran minor damage control. “Like being a mage meant she was someone to be forgotten about.” She looked up at her mother, eyes wide, hoping she would understand. “Helena is a mage. But she is still Helena. Why can’t they see that?”

Josephine’s mother rested her hand on her shoulder. Squeezed it tight. Pushed back some of Josephine’s curls behind her ear. “Because fear is a powerful thing.” She pressed a kiss to Josephine’s forehead. “It takes a good heart to see past the ugliness it inspires.” 

Years later, when the Chantry exploded and nothing was left but a green hole in the sky, Josephine remembered her mother’s words, lifted her chin high, and began to draft a letter to support the mages and Templars alike who would soon likely be blamed for the chaos around them. 

* * *

Years passed. Helena was left locked away, while Josephine was sent to Orlais to study. She left at the top of her class. By the end of her education, she was talented enough to gain any job she could want.

It was youthful naivety for adventure that led her into becoming a bard. 

Those first few months in the Court were a dream, before the death a bard could bring became clear to the young woman. Josephine enjoyed gathering secrets, loved the way she could influence a man with the power of her words, took delight in watching the latest fashions. It made her feel powerful, holding those secrets in the palm of her hand. Like she could change the world for the better with a rumor or a well placed lie. 

She wasn’t as good at it at Leliana. Her friend, a true natural, was the best at the job, putting Josephine to shame. The younger bard loved talking the the woman, swapping stories and adventures, and when she vanished, Josephine was left mourning her absence. 

She thought of Helena sometimes, in those halls. What it would be like if the girl hadn’t become a mage, if she was able to join her in the gossip and intrigue of the court. She’d hate it, Josephine was sure. And for that, Josephine wished she could be there nonetheless, to see her expression as the most frivolous of gossip was passed. 

She didn’t hear much of the Trevelyan’s, much less their sister, until near the end of her career as a bard.  The Blight had just passed, Leliana resurfacing again alive, and whole (though her letters to Josephine were laced with a kind of sorrow that twisted Josephine's heart). It was a small ball by Orlais standards, just a small diplomatic affair and when Josephine saw Robert Trevelyan in attendance, years of resentment came back to the surface of her mind. At least until she saw his face.

Robert Trevelyan had once been a prince in appearance. Truly handsome. Now? He looked like an old man. His face was covered in scars. Dark circles lingered under his eyes. His hair was matted, limp.

Josephine, despite her better instincts, couldn’t help but speak to him.

“James is dead,” he’d opened with to her surprise, voice flat. “He was in Ferelden during the Blight. Killed in the battle for the Capital.” He looked at her with a hollow expression. “I was in the Circle when it collapsed.”

Josephine remembered what she heard of the Ferelden circle, and her hand flew up to hide her mouth. Almost everyone there had perished. Had Helena-

“Helena is fine,” Robert said, noticing her unease. “She lives in one of the Circles in the Marches. She’s doing well. I’m trying to be transferred there.” 

“So you can control her life even more?” The accusation was out of line, but Josephine didn’t regret it. Robert didn’t look even somewhat insulted. He just let out a long sigh.

“Did they tell you? How she was found out?”

“No.” But Josephine could guess. His face, filled with regret made it very clear who let the Templars know of Helena’s secret. Josephine resisted the urge to spit in his face. 

“I thought it was best for her. She never belonged back home. Nor would she in the Templars. When I saw her doing magic, I thought...I thought the Circle would be her place. That she would thrive there. Serve like we were always meant to be.” He looked at her, green eyes wide. “I never meant to send her to a prison.”

Josephine looked at him for a long moment. “Is this your way of asking for forgiveness?”

Robert was taken aback. “I-”

“Because if it is, I suggest you direct it to the woman you have wronged for almost two decades. I would be cautious, however. She can be quite cold.” Josephine turned around, walking away from this mess of a man and his excuses. 

“Lady Montilyet.” Josephine stopped. “I will protect her. I promise.”

Josephine just smiled. It was a bitter smile, from years of a relationship lost, from the wrongness of the world she had never quite gotten over. 

“Lord Trevelyan,” she said. “I did not know your sister long. But rest assured when I tell you this. The only person Helena has ever needed protection from is your family.”

It would be the last time she saw the man before he died. 

* * *

The letter came out of the blue.

It was after the revolution, back when the Chantry of Kirkwall was still a pile of rubble and the whispers of another Exalted March were reaching a fevered pitch. Josephine had returned to Antiva after her career as a bard had ended in blood, and she spent her days as the best ambassador Antiva could have in years. It was a good job. A job that suited her.

At first, when she saw the letter, she thought it ordinary. The handwriting was a bit sloppy, a slant to it that struck her as being out of sorts, but not all scribes had great penmanship. When she opened it up, she was struck by the parchment, clearly cheap and poorly made. It was only upon the name at the top she realized the sender.

_ “Josie,” _

“Helena?” Josephine said. She looked around her office for a second, making sure she was absolutely along, before reading the letter in full. When was the last time she’d heard from the girl? When they were ten? Maker, what could this be about-

Josephine’s thoughts stopped in their tracks, realizing the obvious. The Kirkwall Chantry. The rebellion. The events Josephine saw as a political issue (albeit one she was personally invested in solving) were events Helena was stuck in the middle of. She began to read.

_ “Josie, _

__ _ I shouldn’t be writing you. It has been an age since we’ve spoken, and Maker knows you likely don’t remember me well. But I’m afraid I have no one else to write to. Family has never proven to be a good confidante to my secrets. And thus I trust them to you. _

__ _ This is not a letter for help for myself. I know you cannot provide it, even if you wanted to. This is just a confession of sorts. None of the other mages are quite willing to listen to it. Any word about a Templar that isn’t a curse causes a fight. And I need someone to talk to before I explode.  _

__ _ (Not literally. I have no idea what you have heard about mages, but we do not explore. At least, I don’t. I cannot speak for others.) _

__ _ Robert is dead. Not by my hand, but he is dead none the less. Tried to attack the Circle when the rebellion started. Like he’d gone mad. _

__ _ They told us he’d taken too much lyrium. I know not what to believe. Only that he was a brat, not a madman. And I refused to live in a tower that is his tomb. _

__ _ I cannot go back there, Josephine. I am still a part of their Circle, I trust the men and woman in that tower. And they trust me. But I cannot live there. I am their scout now. Supply gatherer of sorts, blending in with Rebel mages on occasion to learn where they’re getting food. Risky business, but necessary.  _

_ I hate I cannot join their cause. I agree with it. I hated that tower as much as the rest. But to do so would to leave my tower without supplies. Without help. And there are children in there. Templars and mages alike, both forced into the life. I leave for my ideals, they starve. _

_ This is what I ask. Supplies for the Ostwick circle, if you have the pull to provide it. Not for me to leave, but for us to live on more that a precipice of survival. If you have not the means, I understand. But if anyone would be willing to help us, I feel it would be you.  _

_ You were my closest friend as a child. I missed you greatly in the tower, and wish we could correspond beyond this letter, but the risk for us both is likely too much. So thank you, for listening to me. Being my friend when there was no one. You deserve the best of this world. _

_ -Helena.  _

Josephine looked at the letter for a long moment. Folded it in half. Tucked it in her desk. Pulled out another sheet of paper.

The letter pleading the Chantry to send supplies to the Ostwick Circle was perhaps the most convincing she’d ever written.

* * *

Years later, Josephine answered the call to the Inquisition as soon as Leliana sent it.

Ferelden was colder than she remembered, and she wished she brought a cloak as she stepped into Haven. The trip from Orlais had been longer than she’d thought and as she took in the Rift in the sky, she tried to keep from shuddering. It was more menacing, up close. 

“Josephine,” Leliana said, greeting her outside the gates with a warm hug. “It’s lovely to see you.” She looked tired, not that Josephine could blame her, and she hugged Leliana back tighter. How much had she lost over the last few days? 

“It’s lovely to see you as well,” Josephine took a step back and tried to keep from shivering. How she longed for the warmth of the indoors. “I’ve heard the rift has been stabilized?”

“Yes. Our prisoner managed to stop the growth for now.”

“The Herald of Andraste, yes?” Leliana nodded. “We’ll have to decide what to do about that name. It could be an advantage, but we must be-” She noticed the growing grin on Leliana’s face, out of place with the misery around them and paused. “Leliana, why are you smiling?”

“The Herald,” Leliana said. “I believe you two are old friends.”

“We are?”

“Do you know the name Helena Trevelyan?”

Josephine would not be proud of the noise of shock she made in that moment.

* * *

When Helena walked through the doors of the Chantry and saw Josephine, she couldn’t stop staring.

That was fair enough, Josephine thought. She couldn’t help but stare back. 

Helena looked different, though that was to be expected with over a decade gone by. She was still tall, but her arms were less wirey than they once were, now built with muscle. Her hair was the same shade of light brown, but she wore it down now, tucked behind her ears, and the bangs she once had were long gone. Her brown eyes were exactly the same, along with the freckles and the buck teeth, but she had lost all the baby fat in her face. She no longer wore fancy clothes, battle armor replacing silk, and Josephine couldn’t help but notice the staff over her back. It looked well worn. Looking at Helena’s calloused hands, Josephine had no doubt she knew how to use it.

She still wore surprise the same however, Josephine noticed. Clear and plain on her face.

“This is Josephine Montilyet,” Cassandra said, leading the mage over to Josephine. “She our ambassador-”

“We’ve met.” Both said at once, still staring. 

“You have?” Cassandra looked taken aback.

“A long, long, time ago,” Helena said. There was an awkward pause in the room. After a second of silence, Helena bent low in a curtsy, barely better than the one she’d first greeted Josephine with all those years ago, and smiled. “Ambassador Montilyet.”

Josephine couldn’t help the grin on her face as she responded with her own curtsy. The Chantry faded away around her, replaced by the halls of Trevelyan manor, the sound of music and the smell of sweets. Childhood. “Lady Trevelyan.”

“Alright.” Cassandra sounded dumbfounded. “I am clearly missing something.”

Both women laughed in response.

Josephine’s heart fluttered to realize Helena’s laugh was just the same as it was when they were children.  

* * *

After their first meeting, they caught up in Josephine’s office.

The years were plain between them, the awkwardness impossible to miss. They worked through it anyway, discussing as much as possible. Josephine told her the basics of her life as an ambassador. Helena related how she had worked her way to one of the best Enchanters of her Circle. 

“You know,” Helena said, walking over to her desk. “I’ve gotten a lot better at that ice flower trick.” She closed her palm and held it in front of Josephine. “Would you like to see?”

Josephine remembered the small ice flower that had melted all too quick over a decade ago and nodded.

Helena opened her palm. A bead of ice swirled there, twisting and turning up into a stem. Leaves of ice sprouted out of the main stem, little intents on the leaves appearing. The top of the flower blossomed from a bulb, petals blooming out almost naturally, and Josephine couldn’t help gasp as the rose took full form. 

“Lady Montilyet,” Helena said with a smirk. “I think I still owe you a flower.”

Josephine blushed. Reached out for the ice flower. Plucked it from Helena’s palm. Somehow, it felt warm.

“It’s lovely.”

* * *

Almost twenty years ago, two girls met in a gala. They cared about each other deeply. When life separated them, both thought their relationship lost.

Now, smiling over a desk with a magical flower that had yet to melt, both realized that perhaps that separation all those years ago was not an end, but a start. 


End file.
